


Olympic Tryouts (part 25)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [25]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 25)

**Author's Note:**

> so many feels i cannot deal.
> 
> i have nothing else to say except thanks everyone, you’re all the best, okay?

With Brittany’s tongue in her mouth and a hand palming her left boob, there’s tapping on the driver’s side window. Santana springs back so quickly she nearly falls off the seat and onto the floor.

“What is it with people interrupting my sweet lady kisses?” Brittany groans turning to the intrusion. “Oh, hi, Mercedes,” she greets bashfully, feigning innocence and rolling down the window. “We were just-”

“Talking with your tongues super close?” Mercedes is anything but amused.

“It’s not-” Brittany tries, turning to Santana for help, but she can only shrug. “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like. We’re actually on our first date right now.”

“Well now things are making A LOT more sense. Good Lord in Heaven, are you two _insane_? Making out in the dorm parking lot plain as day. Either you’re both plain stupid, or you’re asking for trouble. If Coach finds out-”

“We know. Look, we promise to talk to you about it later, okay? We haven’t exactly figured it all out yet,” Santana pleads. “Please, Mercedes. Just keep it to yourself, for me? At least a day or two.”

_Thank God_ for their years together at BC because although she’s visibly perturbed, Mercedes only scowls at them both in turn before reluctantly agreeing. “You two are the biggest fools I’ve ever met,” she mumbles, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Goodnight, Mercedes,” Santana calls out the open window, but she doesn’t answer, stalking off across the parking lot and out of sight. “This is going to be harder than I thought,” mumbles Santana, worrying her hands together.

“She seemed okay. We’ll talk to her, don’t worry.” Brittany sounds like she’s trying to convince not only Santana but herself, too. “And hey, our date isn’t over yet.”

The corner of Santana’s lips pull up into a smirk. “It’s not?”

“Not a chance. Last one to the room is the Stinky Cheese Man!” Brittany shouts, before yanking open the driver side door and tumbling out, shooting off like a rocket at a full sprint across the college green. By the time Santana has time to react she knows she’s done for, but she plays along anyway, shrieking that Brittany’s a dirty, dirty cheat the whole way.

_____

When Santana closes the dorm room door, Brittany has already lit a candle (which is totally against campus housing rules) and turned on the white Christmas lights strung around the top of the window, casting a warm yellow glow around the room.

“I got us ice cream, too. It’s in the freezer downstairs.” Brittany smiles, crossing the room and wrapping her hands around Santana’s waist, pressing their hips together. “I hope you like cookie dough.”

“Who doesn’t?” Santana counters, lacing her fingers together behind Brittany’s neck.

“I got mint chocolate chip too, just in case.” That earns her a kiss, Santana sucking on her bottom lip wetly before letting it go with a pop. “The ice cream can wait, though,” Brittany husks, moving to push Santana’s jacket off her shoulders, the leather slipping slowly down her arms and pooling onto the floor. They stare at each other as Brittany undoes each button on Santana’s shirt one by one, the desire rampant in her indigo stare. Santana slips her hands under Brittany’s sweater, meeting bare skin and eliciting the tiniest gasp.

“Your hands are cold.”

“They’ll warm up,” Santana whispers, moving to kiss her while slipping off the now open shirt. They undress slowly, breaking up kisses only for ragged breaths and shedding clothing, one at a time pulling off each other’s boots and then jeans and kissing newly exposed skin along the way until they’re both naked.

Although she wants to take it slow, Santana can’t control the innate hunger and desperation her entire being feels for Brittany as she steps back into her. She thinks of drive-ins and picnic baskets and star-gazing as she pushes her step by step back towards the bed and they tumble down into the sheets. Santana rolls on top with one knee between Brittany’s legs and Brittany breaks their kiss to moan loudly at the contact.

“Your date,” Santana starts, before kissing Brittany with an open mouth. “Was perfect. Now,” another wet kiss, their tongues rolling together, “it’s my turn to woo _you_.” Brittany makes a noise of hunger deep in her chest that is half moan and half growl and Santana moves her lips to Brittany’s throat, sucking hard at her pulse and humming. As her kisses trace lower and lower, Brittany writhes underneath her, hands grabbing and squeezing any part of Santana she can reach.

When Santana takes a nipple into her mouth, there’s nails dragging jagged lines across her shoulder blades.

When teeth graze Brittany’s boyish hipbones, her pelvis thrusts upward of it’s own accord, body begging for more contact. “ _Please_ ,” she begs, her hands wound up in Santana’s hair.

There’s breath and lips pressed to the inside of Brittany’s thigh and she jerks almost uncontrollably at the contact. “Santana.” Brittany can barely speak, her voice breathy and strained. “You _need_ to-”

Santana’s tongue runs a wet line down Brittany’s center and she nearly comes on contact, her thighs pressing together on either side of Santana’s head. Santana hums and smiles at the reaction before pressing Brittany’s legs back open with her forearms and taking Brittany’s clit between her lips, sucking gently and swirling it with her tongue. Brittany is breathing so hard you’d swear she’d just run ten miles, but Santana doesn’t stop until she’s clenching and then falling, falling.

_____

Brittany comes three more times before she finally finds the energy to outmuscle Santana, rolling over her, settling into her hips and pinning both wrists above her head.

“Your turn,” she husks, invading Santana’s mouth with her tongue and quickly pushing two fingers inside of her.

Just as she senses Santana is about to come, she flips her over onto all fours and Santana has to press her face into the pillow to muffle the sound of Brittany’s name.

_____

“What’s this one from?” Brittany asks, moving her hand from combing slowly through Santana’s hair to trace a one-inch scar running in parallel along the top of Santana’s left eyebrow. They’re naked and exhausted, legs tangled together under the single layer of bedsheet draped over their hips, slowly allowing their breathing to even out.

“My brother caught me with a high stick to the face when we were playing in the driveway growing up. I was nine, he was seven. Thirteen stitches.” Brittany’s fingers go back to Santana’s hair as she clicks her tongue in disapproval, leaning forward enough to kiss the jagged scar before settling back onto the pillow and reinitiating eye contact.

They watch each other a few seconds longer before Brittany bites her bottom lip.

“What is it?”

She pauses as if she’s unsure whether or not to speak. “It’s just that I’m really happy,” she breathes, rubbing a thumb along Santana’s cheek bone, “but I think we need to tell Coach. And that might not go so well.”

“I know, you’re right,” Santana concedes, her eyebrows drawing together with worry. “I don’t see us ending this anytime soon and it’s getting harder and harder to hide it. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” They seal the promise with a kiss.

_____

The room is bright with sunlight pouring through the window shades as Santana wakes up to Brittany sucking at her earlobe.

She hums contentedly. “Good morning.” Her voice is scratchy and stiff from lack of use and she licks her dry lips before finding Brittany’s. ”Don’t mind my morning breath.”

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Brittany chuckles. ”How are we today?”

“Happy to not have double sessions of death,” Santana sleepy-smiles, snaking her arms around Brittany’s torso and tucking under her chin. She loves the feel of their naked bodies pressed into each other because Brittany is so warm and smells like honeysuckle and it makes Santana’s heart speed up _every_ single time. “What do you say we get some breakfast then some shooting practice in while the rink is empty?” Santana suggests, her finger tracing butterfly-light swirls across Brittany’s ribs, causing her to shudder.

“And then Coach?” Her eyes are crystal blue and clear as a crisp and cloudless fall sky.

“And then Coach,” Santana confirms, sighing and squeezing Brittany tightly before rolling on top of her and having her way.


End file.
